


even ghosts get lonely at night

by sirandking



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Death!Andrew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirandking/pseuds/sirandking
Summary: “Death, right?” Dan asked, ignoring Neil’s blatant lie.Death wiped the smile off his face. “Who else would I be?” he said.*(In which Andrew and Neil meet in a graveyard)





	even ghosts get lonely at night

**Author's Note:**

> see end notes for content warnings

Neil wasn’t sure if it was the evening atmosphere that made the cemetery look so grim or if it was his nerves. The tombstones weren’t any different than when they’d passed by earlier that afternoon, but the twisting shadows and orange glow of twilight added a level of eeriness that had all of Neil’s instincts begging for him to turn back.

“No doubt this is the right place,” Matt said, laughing nervously.

Dan nodded from Matt’s right. She was scanning the trees; every step she took was deliberate against the rough ground. “Where do you think he is?” she asked.

Matt peered around a large ash tree, towards the crematorium. “That way?” he suggested.

Neil felt a twinge up his spine and forced himself to bury it. He clutched his duffel bag tighter against his side and tried to ignore the way his fingers itched for a cigarette.

“That way,” he agreed.

The crematorium was a clinical building, with dull beige bricks and plain windows, as if that would keep its clients from grieving. As the center of the cemetery, it stood at the junction of a patchwork of trails, some lined with small cobblestones, some with rose bushes or hydrangeas, some with thick oak trees.

The tall front doors faced opposite a row of condensed graves where families could bury ashes, neat and precise as an assembly line. While Matt and Dan tugged at the locked doors of the crematorium, Neil crouched down and placed a hand over the dark soil of one of the newest graves, reading the name and date on the marker without really seeing it.

“You won’t find her here,” said a voice, rough with disuse.

Neil couldn’t help his flinch. His hand jerked back to the strap of his duffel bag and he snapped to his feet.

The man beside him was dressed entirely in black, down to the armbands around his wrists and the deep bags under his eyes. There were dark bruises along his face and jaw, flecked in either dirt or dried blood. He held himself like a panther: lean, calm, and patient, until it went in for the kill; he knew he was the deadliest thing around and he knew that everyone else knew it, too.

This was Death.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Neil said.

Death grinned, showing his teeth. It wasn’t pretty.

“Do you think she’d be proud of you? Going against every order she ever gave you?”

“Fuck you,” Neil said.

“Neil?” Matt called out, as he and Dan made their way over from the head of the trail that led across to the mausoleum. He frowned at the scowl on Neil’s face and then glanced at Death’s grin. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Neil said.

“Death, right?” Dan asked, ignoring Neil’s blatant lie.

Death wiped the smile off his face as he looked in Dan’s direction. “Who else would I be?” he said.

“Nicky sent us here. He said you could help us.”

“You want someone killed,” Death said. Certain, bored, like he had spoken those words a hundred times. Neil wondered how many people came to Death with the same request.

“Sort of,” Dan said, “but not exactly. We want someone dead, yes, but we can do that ourselves. You just need to help us with one part of it.”

Death held her gaze, his eyes dangerously blank. “I do not need to help you with anything.”

“Of course not,” she replied easily. “We would give you something in return. We’ve got a bit of a savings built up, if that interests you.”

“What use do I have for money?”

“Hear us out and name your price. I’m sure there’s something we have that you want.”

Death watched her for a long moment. Dan met his eyes calmly, her stance confident and determined. Death’s face betrayed nothing, but his presence in the first place was already more than Neil knew either Matt or Dan had expected from him. Neil, who could still smell the smoke and salt of a dark night in California, waited patiently for the answer he had anticipated from the start.

As if on cue, Death’s eyes slid over to Neil. He gave Neil’s body a slow interrogation, from the clenched fists to the twitching sneakers to the ragged and worn-out duffel at his side. Neil kept his face as smooth as possible and hoped that at least one part of his body wouldn’t give him away.

Finally, Death returned his gaze to Dan. “Come back tomorrow,” he said, and although he was looking at Dan, it was clear who he was addressing. “Then we’ll see.”

With that, he left. Neil tried to follow his path through the winding rows of tombstones, but Death disappeared around an oak tree and didn’t reappear.

Neil shook the tension out of his head and followed Dan and Matt onto the road.

*

Neil must have been right the first time, because the cemetery didn’t feel nearly as intimidating in the pale light of dusk. He took a different path to the crematorium this time, through a row of white tombstones and around the gardener’s hut, where an old lawn mower sat abandoned against the grass. He wandered through a rose garden dedicated by a women’s center and brushed his fingertips along the wings of a marble angel.

He glanced one more time at the pink light of the sky, memorizing every hue that differentiated it from the first time he’d seen Death a year and a half ago, and made his way over to the center of the cemetery.

He found Death sitting against a tree, one leg tucked up to his chin, a book resting on his thigh, a cigarette in his hand. He flipped a page idly and tapped the cigarette twice, dropping ash onto the grass.

“Do you leave when the gardeners come to work, or do they just ignore you?” Neil asked.

Death kept reading, so Neil sat down perpendicular to him and crossed his legs. He watched a squirrel climb a tree and disappear into the branches.

“I did not expect you to come back,” Death said several minutes later. He closed the book in his lap, one finger marking the page.

Neil shrugged. “You’ve always had a low opinion of me.”

“So you don’t deny it this time.”

“What’s the point?” Neil asked. The only reason he’d lied to Death before was because Dan and Matt were there. He could still hide his past from everyone else, but Death had already seen enough to start putting pieces together. His mother’s burning corpse, the two of them sitting next to each other with their backs to the waves – that would be hanging between them whether he acknowledged it or not.

“Do liars need points?” Death said. He took a drag from the cigarette and exhaled into the sky. “I was under the impression it was compulsive.”

“I lie because the more people know about me, the more likely I am to get caught. That’s not compulsion, that’s self-preservation.”

“For someone who acts like he’s so keen to survive, you are spending a lot of time around Death.”

“We need ingredients,” Neil said, cutting right to the point. “We’re building a formula. A poison. The recipe calls for affection from a ghost. One of the bartenders in town sent us to Nicky, and Nicky sent us to you.”

“To me,” Death repeated.

“To Death,” Neil clarified. “He didn’t give your name.”

“Isn’t Death my name?”

It was such a ridiculous question that Neil didn’t bother to give it a response. “We’re going to kill Riko Moriyama.”

Death didn’t react to the news at all. He took another drag from the cigarette, comfortable and easy, as if they were only discussing the weather. Neil watched the smoke curl and dissipate in the air, breathing in as deep as he could to catch the faintest hint of acridity. The ghost of it caused something to shift deep in the cavity of Neil’s chest and he found himself on an edge he was all too familiar with.

“Why should I care?” Death asked.

“We’ll pay you.”

“I don’t need money.”

“What do you need?”

Death watched Neil with intent and empty eyes. He seemed to be searching for something, so Neil held himself as open as he dared and let Death come to his own conclusions.

“Something true,” he said.

“What?” Neil asked, wrong-footed.

“I’ll give you what you ask for, and in exchange, you give me a truth.”

“No. Pick something else.” He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

Neil felt the panic rising like over-boiled milk, white and hot and too fast for him to stop it. The putrid smell of cigarette smoke was suddenly more than he could handle, deadly in combination with the looming crematorium. He raised a hand to cover his nose and focused all of his concentration on breathing, on ignoring the feeling of heat and fire and burning, on smothering the voice in his head that told him don’t look back, don’t slow down, don’t trust anyone.

The phantom pain of a bullet wound itched in his shoulder; he could taste blood where his palm was pressed against his mouth.

 _I’m fine,_ he thought, willing himself to believe it. _I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine._

A hand on the back of his neck snapped him out of his panic. He jerked his head back, looking for his father’s men, looking for guns, and found Death kneeling in front of him. The cigarette was scrunched up in the grass beside him, snuffed out.

 _I’m fine,_ Neil tried to say, but it came out, “I can’t.”

Death stared at him, listening as he tried to slow his breathing down. “You will,” he said, “or you won’t get your ingredient.”

Neil shook his head. “It’s too much. I can’t – I need –” He stood up on shaky legs, leaning a hand against the tree to keep himself from falling over. He waited for the spots to clear from his vision and then pushed himself over towards the rose garden, stumbling over tree roots and gravel as he went.

At the middle of the rose garden, he collapsed onto the ground and tucked his head into his knees. He could hear Death sit down beside him, but it was muted by the dull roar of blood in his ears. He scrambled for any thread he could get a hold of, slipping past burnt rubber and fear and saltiness before he finally snagged on the bright perfume of a rose bush.

He let himself get swept up in the gentle caress of the garden, the waxy texture of the grass, the soft brush of a breeze against his cheek; he breathed in the scent of roses and held for a count of five. Breathed out.

Eventually, his hands stopped shaking and his chest loosened up. He reluctantly looked over at Death, knowing he had revealed much more than he wanted to, wondering how Death would react. There was no change in Death’s expression from the boredom of before; Neil didn’t know whether that was reassuring or worrying. There was only one way to find out, and now that Neil had his senses back, he wasn’t willing to put off the inevitable any longer.

And it was inevitable – Neil had known from the start that his life wasn’t worth more than Riko’s death. Whatever secrets he told Death, whatever trouble it got him in, he wouldn't live long enough for it to make a difference.

He steeled himself with a quick breath and took the plunge.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

Death scanned him, looking for signs – of reluctance, maybe, or weakness; Neil still didn’t quite understand Death’s thought process. He seemed satisfied with whatever he found and shook another cigarette from the pack. Neil tensed for a moment, worried about what would happen if he lit it again, but Death just held it in front of him.

“Explain this,” he said.

Neil frowned, not understanding what he meant. Death shrugged and pulled his lighter out of his pocket. Neil couldn’t help his flinch when Death flicked on the lighter; Death raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Neil felt his heart constrict. Knowing what Death wanted only made it harder to answer. “After,” he said, and stopped. He clenched his jaw and tried again. “After the last time I saw you, I started smoking. It reminds me of my mother and – and everything she taught me. It’s comforting, usually.” He glanced towards the crematorium.

Death nodded and clicked the lighter off. “The smoke reminds you of her corpse.”

“You were right,” Neil said, forcing the words past the black hole in his chest. “I’m going against every order she ever gave me. She’d beat me into the ground and then tell me I’m going to get myself killed.”

“Are you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to know things like that?” Neil asked, knowing that to answer truthfully would be shoving glass into every corner of his heart.

Death understood what he meant, anyway. “Why this, then?” he asked, gesturing towards their surroundings and then at himself. It wasn’t concern that made him ask; this was just another part of his payment. “Why not run off to a rabbit hole somewhere in Armenia and hide out until they catch up with you?”

Neil shook his head. This was something he’d been debating with himself for a year; he still wasn’t convinced by his own argument. “I don’t want to die alone in a foreign country. I don’t want to die without having - tried.” He hesitated, then added, “There’s…someone that I’m trying to help. Someone who has a better chance of surviving than I do. I’ll do whatever I can if there’s even the possibility of getting him out.”

“So it’s benevolence,” Death said, but Neil was already shaking his head.

“Jealousy, maybe, that he’ll be able to have the life I wanted,” he said. “I don’t believe in benevolence.”

“Who does?” Death agreed. He looked away before Neil could respond, whistling at something behind one of the tombstones.

Neil didn’t see anything at first, but as he kept looking, a faint wisp of silvery mist condensed into the vague shape of a small animal. It inched slowly towards the patch of grass where Death and Neil were sitting, paw by hazy paw, and twitched an ear in Neil’s direction. Death held out a hand, and Neil watched a tail curl upwards as the thing – a cat, Neil assumed – nudged its small head into Death’s palm.

“Do you have a container?” Death asked as he scratched behind the ghost cat’s ears.

Neil pulled a glass vial he had stolen from Dan out of his pocket and handed it over to Death. He placed the vial in his lap and used his other hand to push the ghost cat closer to Neil. It moved two steps and then stopped, pushing back into Death’s hand.

“This,” Death said, gesturing at the cat, “is Sir Fat Cat McCatterson.” He tasted the name with the same care that one might afford rotten fruit.

“A cat,” Neil said. “This is supposed to get me a ghost’s affection?”

“Sir is fond of everybody,” Death said derisively. He gestured for Neil to hold out his hand and, when Neil did, grabbed it and held it up to Sir’s nose. “Even runaways with tormented pasts.”

Neil wasn’t sure what to expect from a ghost cat; he’d met one ghost before and the experience hadn’t been particularly pleasant. He half-expected his hand to pass right through Sir’s fur, but when Sir’s nose tapped Neil’s knuckles, it was like brushing against cool silk. He pressed a bit harder to test and Sir meowed indignantly, the sound echoing distantly.

Neil huffed a breath and reached over to scratch behind Sir’s ears. Sir immediately pushed into his hand, purring loudly. Neil dragged his nails gently across Sir’s back and Sir arched up and stretched out his claws before curling up into a ball at Neil’s side.

It was the exact opposite of everything Neil was. From the torn patches of fur, the dark scars along his sides and back, and the bitten-off ear, Sir hadn’t had any easier of a life than Neil had. But Neil had come out cold and closed-off, lonely and isolated even as he traveled with others; Sir was letting a complete stranger run his fingers over the damage with a contented mewl. It was such an odd juxtaposition that Neil found it unsettling; he focused on the feathery texture of Sir’s chin and did his best not to think about it.

He was running his knuckles up and down the knobs of Sir’s spine when Andrew tossed something into his lap. He caught it instinctively and held it up: it was the glass vial Neil had given Andrew, just as empty as when he’d handed it over.

“Did you even do anything?” he asked, but as he spoke, he noticed something shimmering inside. It was faint, just a few flecks of white mist, like dust particles floating in a ray of sunlight. He watched them shift for a few seconds and then tucked the vial into his pocket.

“Not your cup of tea?” Death said.

“It’ll do what it’s supposed to do,” Neil said, standing up and dusting stray leaves off his pants. “That’s all I need.”

Death shrugged and leaned over to pick Sir up. He dropped Sir off in the direction they’d come from and Neil watched the way he let his hand linger over Sir’s tail.

“See you around,” Neil said.

“I’m sure you will,” Death responded, a harsh reminder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cigarettes, clearly expecting Neil to be gone before the click of the lighter could cause any problems.

Instead, Neil watched him, rooted in place by a feeling he couldn’t identify. The last person he’d shared anything with was his mother; since her death, he’d been careful not to let anything slip. But the grief of her death had been wearing down on him all year. He’d barely held himself together long enough to make it to San Francisco and since then he’d been breaking apart at the seams.

One conversation with Death and he had lost sight of all of his defenses. It was terrifying and addictive to open up to someone so directly, to have them accept everything he said with complete indifference. Despite how quickly Dan and Matt had accepted him into their group, he would never be able to trust the truth with them – they were already too close to everything he needed to hide. This, here, in this cemetery with Death, was a dream he was struggling not to wake up from, grasping and tugging at the fraying edges with all of the sharp despair he had been keeping locked up.

“Come with me,” he said, before he could really think about it. He was preoccupied with the calloused weight of a hand at the back of his neck, blank stare framed in cigarette smoke, a broad palm against translucent fur.

Death froze with an arm still in the air, cigarette notched between his fingers. He kept his face perfectly impassive as he flicked his eyes up to Neil.

“Come with us,” Neil repeated. “What are you going to do sitting in this cemetery? How can you possibly be satisfied with waiting here every day until something comes along for you to do? How does it not make you sick?”

“Not all of us have weak constitutions,” Death said casually. “I made an agreement and I will keep it.”

“But you didn’t agree to spend the rest of your life in a cemetery,” Neil argued. “I’ll help you with your job. Whatever you need that I can do, I’ll do it.”

“That is not the agreement I am referring to.”

Neil cycled through the remaining two facts he knew about Death and guessed, “Nicky. Your twin.”

“Aaron,” Death clarified.

“Does he know you’re acting as his watchdog?” Neil asked, and he knew he’d hit a nerve by the dark look that slid over Death’s eyes. He’d only gotten a glimpse at the problems that lay between Death and his twin in the interaction with Nicky, but he had seen the way Aaron had acted at the mention of his brother – hovering at the edges, too protective to leave but not willing to join the conversation either. Whatever had estranged them, neither twin was happy with it. “If I can convince him to come along, will you join us?”

Death raised an eyebrow like he couldn’t believe Neil was serious.

“Nicky, too, if you want,” Neil added.

“You think either of them will agree? Aaron is far too caught up in his medical degree, and Nicky is too caught up in helping him.”

“If you don’t think they’ll agree, then there’s no problem with taking my deal.” Neil waited for Andrew to argue. When he didn’t, Neil continued, “You don’t think they’ll choose you. But you won’t find out for sure until you give them the option.”

“Why bother when I already know the outcome?”

“You’ll get to prove me wrong?” Neil suggested. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. You can stay here and waste away with your agreements and your deals and your debts and balances until there’s nothing left of you. But I didn’t think you were the kind of person who would want to die quietly.”

Death looked so bored by Neil’s argument that it could only have been a defense mechanism. Neil stared Death down, looking for any hint of bitterness or outrage, but Death’s blank face only reflected his own righteous anger back at him.

Death stood up slowly and stepped in front of Neil, leaving less than a foot between their bodies. He held up a single finger. “One day,” he said. “You have one day to convince Aaron and Nicky to join you. If you still have not succeeded by this time tomorrow morning, you will leave without complaint.”

“Deal,” Neil said immediately.

“I will be under no obligation to help you,” Death continued. “And I will only stay as long as you can keep Aaron around.”

“Of course,” Neil said. “Anything else?”

Death considered Neil for a long moment, but ultimately shook his head.

“Okay,” said Neil, holding his hand out for Death to shake. “You can call me Neil,” he added, “since we’re going to be working together.”

Death considered the hand like he was waiting to see if it would disappear. “I know who you are,” he said, weaving his thick fingers through Neil’s like silk. His eyes bore into Neil’s like he could burn through all twenty-two layers of Neil’s false identities; Neil could feel anticipation buzzing at the point where their hands met. “I’m Andrew.”

**Author's Note:**

> warning for detailed description of a panic attack, reference to neil's mother's death
> 
> chat with me on [tumblr](sirandking.tumblr.com)!


End file.
